


order of meowlin (furrst clawss)

by Duskglass



Series: harry potter & the ridiculous fix-its [4]
Category: Harry Potter (books)
Genre: (but also a bit of hurt/comfort), (the Sirius & Crooks brotp is so underrated!! & i Will fill the tag singlehandedly if i have to), 12 Grimmauld Place, Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Crookshanks Defeats Voldemort, Crookshanks POV, Fix-It, Gay Sirius, Gen, Get Together, Hermione POV, Humour, Jewish Remus, M/M, OotP AU, Outsider POV (wolfstar), Post-Azkaban, Sirius & Remus live, Smart Sirius, Werewolves, Wolfstar Bingo 2020, do not repost to other sites/apps, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskglass/pseuds/Duskglass
Summary: in which Crookshanks and Hermione conspire to play matchmaker for a certain pair of Tragically Oblivious Grown Men, and this somehow results in Crookshanks becoming a War Hero.((or: hermione lets sirius borrow crookshanks during ootp; shenanigans ensue))
Relationships: Hermione & Crookshanks, Remus/Sirius, Sirius & Buckbeak, Sirius & Crookshanks
Series: harry potter & the ridiculous fix-its [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994197
Comments: 4
Kudos: 137
Collections: Wolfstar Bingo 2020





	order of meowlin (furrst clawss)

**Author's Note:**

> wolfstar bingo prompt fill: 'Second Wizarding War'    
>  (all works in this series are standalones! this one's dedicated to all my trans and/or jewish readers; love you all) 

Twelve Grimmauld Place is quite obviously a house belonging to Dark Wizards, filled with highly dangerous cursed objects, so naturally Hermione was concerned about letting her cat roam freely as he does at school-- on her first night at the house, she kept a highly disgruntled Crookshanks confined to the bedroom she and Ginny shared, but on the second he must have slipped out, because they can't find him anywhere in the small room. Ginny is all for helping her search, but Mrs Weasley is patrolling up and down the stairs; she tells them firmly that she will keep an eye out, but it isn't safe to be wandering about so they will just have to wait until morning, and they are forced to admit defeat.

Hermione doesn't sleep easily, though-- she spends most of the night awake, listening in vain for the sound of scratching at the door (which they have been forced to lock unless they want Kreacher sneaking in, and for all that she tries to be kind and lenient with the old elf even Hermione must admit that it's creepy to wake up to him watching her sleep). Finally, the sky begins to lighten outside the small grimy window, and she crawls out of bed and pulls on a jumper over her pyjamas (somehow even in the height of an unusually hot summer the old house is frigid). She eases the door open and tip-toes down the creaky stairs, figuring she might as well start her search at the bottom and work her way back up.

In the kitchen she finds a very bleary-eyed Remus Lupin, staring at the kettle on the old-fashioned stove while he waits for the water to boil (why he hasn't boiled it by magic, she cannot guess). It seems no one else is awake yet, so she clears her throat to announce her presence.

'Good morning, Professor Lupin.' He blinks at her in mild surprise, and she continues, 'Have you seen my cat Crookshanks anywhere?'

'Oh-- he slipped into our room last night.' Lupin smiles fondly. 'He's sleeping curled up on Sirius's chest; it's the cutest--' Lupin blinks, and flushes and ducks his head, evidently having just registered who he's talking to. 'Er-- I mean-- you've got a very sweet cat, Hermione. Good morning.'

'It's all right, Professor Lupin,' Hermione says gently, sliding into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. 'I've known about the two of you for ages; I think it's lovely that you have each other.'

'Erm. You know _what_ , exactly?'

'That you and Sirius are together, of course,' she answers matter-of-factly.

Lupin fumbles his box of black tea, scattering the individually wrapped teabags across the table. 'I-- we're not together, though? I'm not sure why--' He hastily gathers up the teabags and stuffs them back into the box, and clears his throat as he sets it aside. 'If this is because we, er, share a room-- there wouldn't be enough beds if everyone didn't double up. And Sirius and I shared rooms back at Hogwarts and this last summer, so we agreed that this arrangement makes the most sense.'

'...Oh.' Hermione frowns-- in all honesty, she had suspected ever since they hugged in the Shack, and seeing how they orbit each other ever since her arrival here had banished any doubts. _Surely_ she couldn't have been so completely wrong about them. 'But... you were _before_ , right? I mean...'

Lupin shakes his head sadly. 'I'm sorry-- we really are just friends.' He reaches for the now-boiling kettle, offering her a pained smile that looks more like a grimace. 'Tea or coffee? I'm sure Molly will have plenty of work for us today.'

'Er-- no thank you, Professor.' Hermione stands back up. 'I think I'll try to get more sleep-- I just wanted to be sure Crookshanks hadn't got into any...' She waves a hand to indicate the house and all of its questionable contents.

'Ah... perfectly understandable.' He sets the kettle back down after pouring his cup, and glances up uncertainly. 'Would you... like me to fetch him for you?'

'No, that's fine...' Hermione forces a smile. 'He doesn't like to be disturbed when he's asleep-- best to leave him be if he's comfortable.'

Lupin looks rather relieved at that. 'Yes, quite.'

Hermione returns to her room, frowning all the way. Is Lupin _ashamed_ of his sexuality? Many muggles still are, but the wizarding world (largely free from Christian biases) has always been far more accepting of same-gender relationships, and has even legalised official marriages between gay and lesbian couples. Hermione hopes that Lupin doesn't think she would be bothered by it just because she's Muggleborn-- unless, perhaps, he and Sirius are concerned about how _Harry_ might react...? She can't imagine Harry would mind, either, but of course she would never out them against their will if they're not ready. Hermione knows how to be circumspect.

  
She gets her chance to continue her investigation a couple of days later, when she volunteers to join Sirius in clearing out an additional washroom (the space conveniently being too small for more than two people to work at a time). 'So, er, Sirius,' she begins, 'you and Professor Lupin...'

Sirius snorts. 'Still bloody weird to hear you kids call him that... Wish I could've seen it; he always wanted to be a teacher-- back in school, he was brilliant at helping younger students to understand complex spellwork.'

'Oh, he was excellent,' Hermione says, with genuine enthusiasm. 'The best Defence professor we've ever had-- although, I don't suppose there was much competition.'

'Right, what was it... two Death Eaters in disguise, and that insufferable poncey fraud Lockhart.'

Hermione squashes down a brief surge of embarassment over the cringey childish crush she'd gone through over the course of second year (worst of all, it had been over a man who published _factually incorrect books_ \-- she still cannot believe she allowed herself to be duped by a _plagiarist_ , of all people). 'You knew Lockhart, too?' she asks, unable to resist the question.

'Regrettably, yes-- he was a few years below us in school, a Ravenclaw. Always had a swelled head, even in his first year... you see, he was a big fan of a book on defeating creatures and nonhuman spiritous apparitions by Mr Lupin-- er, Remus's dad, that is-- so he was always after us for more information, trying to get in touch with Mr Lupin.' Sirius tilts his head back, wearing a beatific smile. 'Remus couldn't _stand_ him-- this one time he invented a brand new hex just to shove some Eye Of Newt up the little twat's nose, and then to top it off he managed to convince McG that Snivellus did it-- _beautiful_.' 

Hermione eyes Sirius incredulously-- but then she remembers their very first lesson with Professor Lupin, when he had shot a wad of chewing gum up Peeves's nose. And Lupin _is_ friends with Sirius, after all; clearly he is more of a troublemaker than he tries to appear.

Sirius snorts, and then shakes his head. 'I suppose Lockhart wanted that sort of life for himself-- only with fabricated glory and none of the actual work. Moony told me about his books, you know, how the werewolf one in particular is absolutely _riddled_ with inaccuracies-- I mean, he actually claimed that you can cure lycanthropy with a Homorphous Charm! And they _actually published_ him!'

'I did wonder about that,' Hermione says. 'When I researched werewolves in third year, I couldn't find any other mention of a cure-- though Lockhart had been exposed as a fraud by then, so I figured his book must have got some of the details wrong.'

Sirius's gaze goes distant, melancholy. 'There isn't a cure-- never has been. The best we could do for Remus was become animagi, help him through the moons...'

'That's really amazing, though! _Especially_ since you hadn't even sat your OWLs yet-- I'm going into Fifth Year now, and I can't even imagine being ready for something like that, let alone actually pulling it off without getting caught.'

'Knowing you, Hermione, you're certainly smart enough.' Sirius pauses, sitting back on his heels. 'I suppose you just... need a reason. I don't think it ever would have occurred to me to become an animagus if it weren't for Remus-- or it might've, but I'd never have stuck with it.'

'He's really lucky to have you,' Hermione says. 'Whether it's as a friend, or...'

Sirius's head whips around so forcefully he has to grasp the edge of the tub to steady himself, his gaze sharp. 'You-- how d'you mean?'

'It doesn't bother me,' Hermione says quickly. 'And for the record, I don't think Harry would care, either, if he found out.'

'About what?' Sirius says cautiously, in a way that tells Hermione he knows exactly what but doesn't want to say it.

'If you and Professor Lupin were...' (what, exactly? _boyfriends_ sounds too childish, while _lovers_ sounds too sexual, and they couldn't be married since it was only legalised after the war and now Sirius is a fugitive) '...together.'

Sirius's eyes go unfocused in a way that forcibly reminds Hermione that he spent twelve years in Azkaban. 'Remus doesn't feel that way about me,' he says quietly. 'He couldn't-- never has. And now...' Sirius runs a hand distractedly through his hair, grimaces, and tries to force his expression back to neutral. '...Well, it doesn't matter.'

The implication is clear-- that Sirius doesn't think he's appealing enough to be a viable prospect-- which is absurd. He's not exactly Hermione's type, but she does have _eyes_ ; even after all he's been through Sirius is still undeniably handsome (his long raven hair is thick and silky-looking, a sharp contrast to Snape's lank and oily locks, and his sharp cheekbones and jawline are complemented by bold expressive eyebrows and full lips)... and even more importantly, he's incredibly intelligent, and surprisingly caring. Hermione considers pointing out that Lupin had, only a few days before, called him _cute_ while wearing one of the soppiest smiles she's ever seen-- but she doesn't think Sirius would believe her if she did, not with the way he's staring at his own bony hands as though he hardly recognises them.

'Er. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something painful.'

'It's fine.' Sirius manages a wry smile. 'Really, it's enough just to have one of my friends back-- and to be a part of Harry's life.' He turns back to the tub and resumes scraping at a particularly stubborn spot. '...Don't tell anyone else about this, though. Especially not Remus, or... or Harry.'

'Of course not,' Hermione assures him. She watches him for a moment, picking at the edge of the label on the bottle of _Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover_. 'You said Prof-- er, Remus-- invented that spell himself? What was the incantation again-- _washi_ -something...?' 

' _Waddiwasi_ ,' Sirius says, almost unthinkingly, the fond smile returning. 'Sends a small object up the target's nose-- not only amusing, but an excellent distraction in a fight.'

'Oh, absolutely-- did you know, we had a run-in with a mountain troll in our first year, and Harry and Ron knocked it out all on their own-- Harry jumped on its back and stuck his wand up its nose.'

Sirius barks out a laugh. 'Did he really? Bloody brilliant-- now _that's_ a story I've got to hear.'

Hermione smiles as well, and launches into the tale of how she had first befriended Harry and Ron-- and, a moment later, it's almost as though the subject of Sirius and Lupin's relationship was never brought up at all.

  
There isn't much time to worry about it after that-- especially not once Harry arrives, and they're all occupied with his hearing on top of cleaning the house, and then preparing for the coming school year. In the midst of it, though, Hermione notices how Sirius walks around the house as though it might bite him, avoiding creaky floorboards with the ease of long practise and turning the knobs while closing doors so the latch makes as little noise as possible. She notices how he's constantly on edge, how he tries not to let it show.

When Hermione first entered Grimmauld Place, it was with a straight back and her head held high-- but it would have been a lie to say that she wasn't nervous, or quite frankly disturbed. Now, it's plain to her that her own distaste for the house cannot hope to match that of its current master-- she truly can't imagine having to live here as a young child, having to walk under those horrid mummified elf heads every day... or hearing your own mother scream at you and call you _worthless_. There is a tired sort of resignation in Sirius's eyes whenever someone sets the portrait off, as though it's far from the first time he's heard his mother spit curses at him. He tries to pretend indifference, but anyone who bothered to look would surely see right through him-- which in practise is almost exclusively limited to Lupin. Whenever Hermione sees him at the house (whenever he isn't away on Order Business) he keeps a careful eye on Sirius, always within reach if needed.

And the longer Hermione watches the pair of them, the more obvious it becomes that Sirius and Lupin are absolutely smitten with one another-- and utterly oblivious about this fact, to the point that Hermione is quite sure that Sirius and Lupin themselves are the only ones who _don't_ know. It's actually painful to watch.

Still, Hermione had promised not to tell anyone, and she intends to keep her word-- though she doesn't suppose that extends to Crookshanks (who is a very smart cat, and as such has most likely figured it out on his own already, and also is conveniently incapable of telling anyone else). And, after several sessions of quiet venting with her cat (about how _impossible_ the pair of them are, and how can two highly intelligent adult men be so _clueless_ about their own emotions) Hermione begins to get an idea.

When it comes time to return to school, Hermione has one last private word with Crookshanks, who turns out to be surprisingly cooperative (though perhaps he just hates his travel basket that much). With a small satisfied smile, Hermione gathers him up in her arms and goes to find Sirius.

\---

The sky beyond the grimy windows has gone dusky when Moony finds them in Buckbeak's room, sprawled against the hippogriff's flank. Padfoot stiffens as the door creaks open, the slow massage of his fingers abruptly ceasing. Padfoot has been feeling down all day, ever since they returned from the train station, snapping irritably at everyone who has admonished him for 'taking unnecessary risks' by going along to see the kids off. It's not _Padfoot's_ fault that he hates being trapped inside the house, though; they should know that dogs don't do well cooped up like this, particularly given that the house is rife with unpleasant smells.

Crookshanks yowls, both as a warning to Moony to not bother Padfoot and to register his displeasure at the sudden cessation of ear-scritches. Moony and Padfoot both blink down at him, and he reaches up to hook a paw around Padfoot's wrist and pull it back against his head, a motion which causes Padfoot to relax slightly, his expression smoothing out once again. He resumes the massage, and Crookshanks purrs and settles back against his leg.

Moony frowns in confusion, whatever else he'd meant to say evidently forgotten. '...Did Hermione forget her cat?'

'What?' Padfoot glances up at Moony again, this time continuing to rub small circles across Crookshanks's head. 'No, of course not. She was worried about him, I think, with everything going on; she asked if I'd look after him for this year.'

'Oh. That was... quite nice of you.'

Crookshanks huffs out a breath. Of course it had actually been _Padfoot_ that Hermione was worried about, not Crookshanks ( _he's_ perfectly capable of looking after himself and she well knows it) but he isn't about to point that out. Padfoot and Moony are both too proud to admit they need help, even to each other.

Which is, really, the crux of the problem. If they would just talk to each other properly-- actually lay it all out instead of darting around the topic like a pair of skittish sparrows-- then this wouldn't be necessary.

Crookshanks adores his friend Padfoot, this much is true-- but sometimes being best friends with a man-dog is rather exhausting. Canines _really_ have no common sense at all... and it is quite clear that if Crookshanks wants things to work out for the best, he really will have to orchestrate it himself.

  
It won't be easy, that much is certain-- but Crookshanks has never been one to be put off by a challenge, especially not for the sake of doing what's right.

  
Here are the Facts:

Padfoot and Moony continue to share a room, even with the house emptied out aside from occasional Order members needing a place for the night-- or, rather, Padfoot insisted on Moony keeping the same room when he offered to switch now that there was enough space, and Crookshanks loudly voiced his own displeasure at the prospect of Padfoot moving instead, and in the end they'd both given in and stayed together. Padfoot always starts off in his own bed at night, human-shaped and with Crookshanks pressed up against him, purring to comfort him-- but more often than not (on the Bad Nights) they both end up in Moony's bed come morning, with Padfoot in his dog form curled up at Moony's side or sprawled across his ankles. Crookshanks and Moony both help Padfoot to rest more easily-- even in separate beds, Moony's presence in the room and the warmth of his scent calms Padfoot.

On some nights, though, Moony has to leave the house for his work, from which he always returns smelling of strange wolves or sharp dangerous spells. In Moony's absence, Padfoot hardly sleeps at all-- he restlessly paces the empty bedroom in dog form, unable to settle even on Moony's bed (too cold and empty, the scent gone stale) and they end up in Buckbeak's room instead, or in the dusty disused owlery in the attic, or huddled at the scrubbed kitchen table, or even up on the roof (on the rare nights when the weather isn't too wet, and only when Padfoot is quite sure no one will notice he has gone). Sometimes Moony is away for several days at a time, which causes a steady decline in Padfoot's mood, and making sure he doesn't self-destruct takes all of Crookshanks's effort. Padfoot hates the house, but even more than that he worries about Moony and hates that he can't be there to watch Moony's back.

The worst nights, though, are the full moons-- some of which Moony has to spend on missions to see the other wolves, who will only trust him if he runs with them (a fact which Padfoot doesn't like at all, but has been forced to grudgingly accept, as the Missions are too important). However, on the second cycle after the house has emptied out, Moony has no mission, and Padfoot insists on coming along so he can help make sure that Moony doesn't get hurt when he becomes a wolf, just like he used to when they were young-- but Moony declines firmly. He says that he's been taking the potion that makes him safe, so there's no need for company... and in any case, it wouldn't be safe for Padfoot to come along and risk being seen by someone who might recognise him. There are too many Enemies after Padfoot, who want him dead or worse.

In the end, Moony goes alone, and Padfoot spends the night on the roof in spite of the driving rain, sat in a miserable huddle in his dog form as he keens mournfully at the moon (fully obscured by the clouds). Crookshanks refuses to join him, but waits at the window until he comes back inside at dawn.

Moony returns safe (albeit exhausted and quite obviously in pain) and they hardly say a word to one another. It's a few days before the tense silence between them breaks.

  
Crookshanks detests the ancient elf that lives in the house, skulking about insulting Padfoot and Moony and all their chosen people. The feeling is mutual, the elf appearing out of nowhere to swat Crookshanks away with an old broomstick whenever he stretches out his claws to scent-mark the furniture (which is old and dusty and moth-eaten anyway). Crookshanks sits at Padfoot's side whenever Padfoot is at rest, and hisses at the elf, swiping at him if he dares to come too close.

Full meetings occur less frequently than they did in the early days, and are smaller in size. More often, the other members of the resistance force will only stop by briefly, to drop off and pick up messages. Padfoot puts on a false smile and plays the part of the host, but the act is as thin and flimsy as dry leaves in winter and it crumbles to dust as soon as he's alone. Padfoot loathes being treated as their errand-dog, but they will pernit him to do nothing more.

On the bad days (with no Moony to distract him) Padfoot often turns to the fire-water that slows his movements and dulls his senses-- or sometimes he simply becomes the dog and paces relentlessly from room to room. The house is a prison to him, every bit as bad as the one he fled to hunt the Rat-- and while there is nothing to restrain him physically, the old man wizard's words bind him tighter than ropes and shackles ever could. The house is killing him day by day, but he will not leave, except to crawl out on the roof occasionally and taste the grey city air, which reeks of petrol and rubbish and piss. It is still sweeter than the air within, a decade of mouldering dust and small dessicated dead things entombed within the walls.

Sometimes, Crookshanks can convince him to settle, will curl up on his knees and purr as Padfoot's long fingers comb through his fur, bony knuckles kneading pleasantly at the top of his head and down his spine. Sometimes, Padfoot presses his whole face into Crookshank's side, his breathing shallow and shaky, and Crookshanks tolerates the damp soaking into his fur.

  
For a few nights in autumn, Moony declines all his missions to stay at the house with Padfoot. Crookshanks knows that this is a bad time of year for Padfoot-- he remembers two years before, when the village and castle were full of carved pumpkins with bright candles inside, how Padfoot had abruptly lost all sense of patience and discretion, how he'd been so utterly consumed by blind panic over the Rat being so close to Harry that he'd crawled up to the castle in desperation and torn fruitlessly at the entrance to the Tower, before he'd heard voices and been forced to flee...

They don't say much, over the course of those solitary autumn days, but then they don't need to.

  
The horrible greasy bat-man stops by once, while Moony is away. He taunts Padfoot in his nasty oily voice. Crookshanks growls warningly at him, and the grease-man laughs nastily, mocking Padfoot for being so useless that he needs a 'silly little cat' to defend him.

Padfoot jumps up to punch the grease-man in the face, but Crookshanks reaches him first. Moments later, the grease-man skulks away in defeat, his nose bloodied and the skin of his hands shredded, one distinctive row of claw-marks down the length of his sallow face. Even the house trips him on his way out, the front door slamming into his backside as he crosses the threshold (for, as much as Padfoot dislikes the house, he _is_ still its master, and it bends to his will).

The grease-man tastes even worse than he smells, but Crookshanks doesn't regret biting him hard enough to break skin. Afterwards, once they're back upstairs, Buckbeak grumbles that he wasn't there to help too-- _he_ could have broken the grease-man's legs and made the nasty slimeball drag himself out like a slug. Padfoot snorts, and smiles for the first time in days.

  
On the third full moon into Crookshanks's stay with Padfoot, Moony has another wolf mission, from which he returns soaked through and caked in mud. He heads straight for the shower (clearly hoping to slip past unnoticed) while Crookshanks keeps a watchful eye on him and stalks him into the washroom to make sure he's not hiding any severe injuries under his clothes.

'Did Padfoot put you up to this?' he asks with a sigh, as he dabs a sharp-smelling herbal healing potion onto some shallow scrapes on his legs.

Crookshanks meows superciliously. Of course not-- but that doesn't mean he won't report whatever he finds to Padfoot anyway (or at least stare accusingly at Moony until he confesses of his own accord). It's his job to make sure they're _both_ taking care of themselves, after all.

'I'm fine, really-- I just want to get cleaned up and go to sleep. Padfoot will understand that.'

Crookshanks huffs out a breath, but leaves him be.

The next moon, however, is a different story entirely.

  
Moony had said there would be no mission that month, yet he returns bloody and bruised, bracing himself heavily against the wall as he ascends the stair with his feet charmed to silence and a thin web of secrecy-spells draped about him like a cloak-- but Crookshanks can see right through it all, can smell the blood and pain on him. Crookshanks knows at once that Moony _isn't_ okay, for all that he's trying so hard to hide it-- no doubt he wants to reach the washroom and clean himself up without Padfoot noticing.

Which, of course, is ridiculous and unacceptable.

They lock eyes for a moment, just as Moony reaches the first floor landing-- Crookshanks sees the flicker of panic there, the clear pleading to _do nothing_ \-- but then Crookshanks takes off at a run, yowling loudly with the particular inflection he always uses to summon Padfoot (the call they've shared ever since they first conspired to catch the Rat). He ignores Moony's muttered swearing in his wake, and continues the call until he hears Padfoot leaping down the stairs, at which point his meows shift to a call of _here here here_ as he returns to Moony (who is still stood on the steps in a panic, as though he wants to bolt but hasn't the energy).

'What's going on, what's wrong-- bloody hell, Moony; what's happened to you?'

At that moment, Moony's knees give out; he just barely manages to catch himself against the rail as Padfoot lunges forward to support him. '...Bad moon,' he hisses, wincing as Padfoot's arm presses against his ribs. 'I'm fine, really...'

'Bollocks,' Padfoot growls. 'Don't _insult_ me Lupin; it's obvious you're bloody well not!'

' _Will_ be,' Moony corrects. 'Just... need a minute.'

Padfoot rolls his eyes. 'Right, yes-- and _I'm_ a crumple-horned snorkack.' 

Moony only grunts, and Padfoot begins to help him up the next flight of stairs-- Padfoot becomes increasingly concerned as he feels the damp soaking through Moony's clothes. He remains silent until they've reached the second floor (where their own room is) and headed along to the washroom.

'You don't have to do this,' Moony mumbles as Padfoot kicks the door closed behind the three of them (Crookshanks hops up to the counter next to the sink to get a better vantage point).

Padfoot doesn't dignify this with a reply, pushing Moony down to sit on the toilet lid and fetching the healing potions from the cupboard. 'You said it was a bad moon,' he says, 'but you weren't scheduled for any missions.'

Moony's shoulders sag. '...I wasn't.'

Padfoot returns to his side, tugging gently at his lapels until the coat slides off his shoulders. 'What happened? Was there an attack?'

Moony grimaces-- his fingers are shaking too badly to undo the buttons on his (visibly bloodstained) shirt, so Padfoot begins to help with them. '...Not exactly,' he says softly, giving up all pretence as Padfoot exposes the fresh bite-mark on his shoulder.

'I thought the potion was supposed to stop you hurting yourself,' Padfoot says-- at this, Moony looks away, and Padfoot's scowl deepens. '...You didn't take the potion after all, did you.'

Moony sighs, and runs shaky fingers through his sweat-dampened curls. 'Severus... he stopped making it.'

'What-- _when_?' Padfoot bites his lip. 'Was it... because I...?'

'No, no, it wasn't anything you did, Pads-- he hasn't made it for me since I left Hogwarts.'

'But he was _supposed_ to! When you're not on those horrid fucked up missions, running with the other wolves-- Dumbledore _promised_ \--'

'Severus claimed that with the _Umbitch_ there, he wouldn't be able to get away,' Moony says bitterly.

'That lying _bastard_ ,' Padfoot growls. 'Why didn't you _say_ something? If the old man said you were to have it, then--'

'Dumbledore has far more important things to concern himself with.'

'Still, you could have told _me_ \-- I could have come with you, and _helped_ , and you wouldn't be going through this now!'

'You know why not,' says Moony. 'It isn't--'

' _Safe_? Yes, well, _sod that_ \-- you tearing yourself to pieces isn't _safe_ either! What the _buggering fuck_ am I even _good for_ if you won't let me do the _one fucking thing_ I'm actually able to do to help you?' He waves a hand at the gloomy walls around them. 'It's not as though I'm doing anything _useful_ sat on my arse in this cursed mausoleum.'

Moony glances up at him. 'You know that's not fair, Sirius. I... I don't want you to get cau--'

'And I don't fucking care! I did this for _you_ , Remus-- I _knew_ there were risks but I _never gave a shit_ because helping you was-- _is_ \-- worth so much more than any of that!'

'We're not sixteen anymore,' Moony says softly. 'We can't run like we used to.'

'I know that-- I _fucking know_. But what I did-- what I _promised_ you back then-- it doesn't have a bloody _expiration date_.' Padfoot's head drops, his hair falling into his face. 'I... can't do anything for Harry now, either-- I can't do anything _right_. I just want...'

Moony reaches out as Padfoot takes a shuddering breath, and brushes Padfoot's hair back from his red-rimmed eyes. 'I hope you know that Harry doesn't see it that way-- nor do I. We're incredibly lucky to have you back-- that _is_ enough.'

Padfoot shakes his head, but takes another deep breath and begins to carefully apply the healing potion to Moony's ripped-up shoulder. His breath is still a bit uneven, but his hands are steady, gentle.

Crookshanks settles himself down, tucking his feet under his body, and begins to purr as he continues to watch the two men.

'...If I made you the potion, would you stay?' says Padfoot. 'Transform here, I mean.'

Moony bites his lip. 'I don't know, Pads; it's supposed to be very diffic--'

'I can do it.' Padfoot looks sharply up at Moony, his hands gone still. 'Will you stay with me.'

Moony lets out a deep breath. 'I'll still have to spend some full moons with the Packs, but... if you can make the potion, then... yes.'

Padfoot says nothing, simply returns to his task of cleaning up and healing Moony's wounds, and then running him a bath-- but his shoulders are relaxed, and there's a new sort of determination to his step when he leaves the washroom to fetch Moony's pyjamas, and then makes the climb up to the owlery to put in an order for the special potion recipe he will need to help Moony.

  
By the following afternoon, Padfoot has received a thick book of potions recipes by owl-post. He proceeds at once to the kitchen, where he promptly begins some trial runs to be sure he's got it right by the time Moony needs it. Crookshanks watches at first, but the smell is quite intolerable so he decides to leave Padfoot to it and goes to keep Buckbeak company instead.

Padfoot's experiments continue over the next several days, sustaining his mood even when Moony has to leave again-- a fixation which lasts right up until the picture-man appears to notify him of a recent attack, and the imminent return of the children. Padfoot frowns at the picture-man, startled by the unexpected interruption, but answers that of course they are welcome, and hastily tidies up (by shifting his mess to only one of the work areas and using a few quick cleaning-spells on the now-cleared surfaces). Crookshanks watches from the doorway, his tail flicking back and forth-- he had returned to the kitchen at once, able to sense that something had gone deeply wrong-- he jumps but stands his ground when they appear a moment later, with a bang and a flash of light.

Hermione isn't with them-- only the four youngest of the ginger-clan, and Harry, the latter of whom smells of sick, and all five of Fear. Padfoot orders the awful sneering elf from the room, and calms the children the best he can (even when the twins snap at him, accusing him of having it easy, sat on his arse in the safety of his house-- Crookshanks sees him flinch, but he keeps his voice carefully level, and Crookshanks rubs up against his ankles to calm him in turn).

The night passes slowly, all of them tense-- Padfoot can do nothing but sit with them in quiet solidarity, and makes sure that all of the kids at least have something to drink (as none are in the mood to eat). Fortunately, it ends in relief when the ginger-clan matriarch returns with good news about her mate-- the mood is so positive that she even manages to be pleasant to Padfoot, and though much is still uncertain, it seems that for the moment things are looking up.

\---

Hermione's return to Grimmauld Place over winter hols is certainly not under the circumstances she had originally anticipated-- she had planned on a leisurely ride back to London on the Express with Ron and Harry, at which point the three of them would go to stay at the Order HQ for a few days before Hermione was set to join her parents on a skiing trip (while the others would go to the Burrow). However, with the news of the attack on Mr Weasley, she had owled her parents to cancel their plans (claiming an excess of coursework to catch up on) and as soon as classes have finished on Friday afternoon she dashes up to the dorms to grab her overnight bag (crammed with far too many books and charmed feather-light) and then she hurries out to Hogsmeade, from whence she catches the Knight Bus back to London (not the most pleasant ride, but much faster than the train).

She checks in with Harry first (he has refused to speak to anyone since they visited Mr Weasley in hospital, at which point he'd managed to get the silliest ideas into his head about being possessed and murdering people in his sleep) and then there's dinner with all of the Weasleys and Harry and Sirius, and Hermione finds that she is too tired for anything except going straight to bed. The following day is devoted to another round of clearing away dust and cobwebs (which have evidently returned with a vengeance since the summer) and putting up decorations to brighten the house's gloomy interior-- amidst all the chaos, it's only after most of the others have settled down for the night that Hermione has the chance to talk to Sirius alone.

Sirius isn't in the second-floor room he and Lupin had shared that summer, nor is he with Buckbeak in the master bedroom on the third floor, nor in the basement kitchen, nor in the dark disused dining-room or the drawing-room (where a massive tree is stood at one end of the room, blocking view of the Black Family tapestry). Crookshanks finds her as she's coming back up the stairs to the second floor-- he meows softly, with a slow blink, and then turns to go up the stairs.

Frowning, Hermione follows her cat back up to the third floor, where the staircase ends in an open space beneath the grimy skylight. Crookshanks starts along the rail, as though headed towards Buckbeak's room at the front of the house, but he pauses halfway along, and then heads through a door Hermione has never seen open (nor ever given much thought, having assumed it was an airing cupboard or another storage space for cursed artifacts). When Crookshanks doesn't emerge, Hermione steps forward with a frown and pushes it open.

Another staircase, this one very dark and narrow, leads up another floor-- Hermione recalls, vaguely, that Sirius had mentioned an owlery at the top of the house. Thinking that perhaps Sirius has gone to send a letter, Hermione walks up the stairs-- at the top, she finds a short corridor ending in a window, and a narrow strip of light shining from the door upon the right side. She steps forward, nudging the door open with a loud creak.

Sirius, sat in the middle of the floor inside the room, jumps at the noise and reaches instinctively for his wand. '...Merlin fuck, Hermione,' he groans, sitting back on his heels.

'Er-- sorry; I didn't mean to startle you.' Looking around at the red-and-gold-papered walls (a more vibrant concentration of colour than she's seen in the rest of the house put together, as the lower floors all favour a uniform palette of muted greys and greens) Hermione assumes this must have been Sirius's childhood bedroom. Pinned up amongst the Gryffindor banners are a selection of faded posters, featuring unmoving images of motorbikes and (to her surprise) Muggle girls in bikinis.

'Hadn't quite worked out that I didn't fancy girls, when I put those up,' Sirius says dryly, making her jump. 'They pissed off my banshee of a mother, though, which was the important thing-- me turning blood traitor for a Muggle girl would have been even worse than a gay heir, in her eyes.'

'Oh?' says Hermione, fascinated despite herself. 'They would have been okay with you not marrying, then?'

'Well... no. But no one cares if you've got lovers on the side, gay or otherwise, as long as you've got a few nice slightly-inbred Pureblood heirs with your nice slightly-inbred Pureblood wife... and there are even spells you can use in place of the sex bit, so plenty of gay Purebloods are happy enough with that arrangement.' Sirius reaches out to scratch under Crookshanks's chin. 'Problem was... I hated everything they stood for. I couldn't imagine living like that.'

Left unsaid: this house is the last place he'd ever have wanted to return to (except perhaps Azkaban). 'That's awful... I'm sorry.'

Sirius gives a sharp laugh. 'It doesn't matter now, either way-- can't exactly do much about it from beyond the grave, can they?' He glances up. '...Anyway, did you need something, Hermione?'

'Er, I just thought I'd ask about Crookshanks-- I hope he hasn't been too much trouble.'

'He's been a delight,' Sirius says in earnest (eliciting a loud purr in response). 'Very helpful with the rodent problem, too... does a much better job of it than Kreacher.'

Hermione frowns at this, but chooses to let it slide, not wanting to upset Sirius when he's so obviously unwell already (while she cannot condone the mistreatment of house-elves under _any_ circumstances, Hermione must also concede that she hasn't the faintest idea what sort of history might exist between Sirius and Kreacher, considering that Sirius had quite clearly suffered at the hands of his family as well, and she has read a lot about how abusers will often seek to turn their victims against one another). Instead, she crouches down to pet Crookshanks. 'Only, a couple months ago Snape showed up on Monday, looking like a cat had tried to tear his face off...'

Sirius laughs again, this time with genuine good humour, and Crookshanks looks entirely too pleased with himself (she'd hoped Crookshanks would be a good influence on Sirius, but perhaps the reverse has been true as well-- then again, he'd jumped on Ron's head the first time they met him, so perhaps she shouldn't be surprised). 'Yes, well... he insulted Crooks, right to his face. Can't say Snivelly has ever had the greatest sense of self-preservation... particularly when it comes to animals.'

Hermione thinks back on all her experiences with Snape (including the incident in first year with Hagrid's cerberus trying to take his leg off, several instances of various cats hissing at him around the castle, and one memorable morning in fourth year when she'd seen him skulking out of the owlery with his hair mussed and droppings down his robes) and finds herself smiling in return. 'I suppose I can't disagree with that.'

Sirius smiles down at Crookshanks, his gaze soft. 'I did tell you that this one is an excellent judge of character...'

Hermione glances down as well, and takes note of the project that Sirius had evidently been working on before she came in-- he's got a pile of dismembered candelabras to one side, and a spool of craft wire and some muggle pliers, and several pieces-- enough for nine candles-- shrunken down to a more delicate scale and laid out on the rug in a pattern that Hermione recognises. 'Is that... are you making a menorah?'

'Oh-- you noticed?' Sirius looks down at his project. '...Well, _trying_ , anyway.'

Hermione thinks, somewhat guiltily, of how Sirius had just spent all day putting up Christmas decorations for his guests' enjoyment. 'Are you...?'

'Jewish? No, but Remus is-- or his mam was; I didn't have the chance to ask if he still celebrates before he left on his mission, but I... I wanted to be sure he had the option. Christmas was never really his thing.'

Once again, Hermione is struck by just how kind and thoughtful Sirius can be (she can't imagine that many people would think to replace the secret-animagus pet of a boy they barely knew, let alone risk doing so while a fugitive on the run). 'That's very sweet of you-- I'm sure he'll appreciate the thought either way.'

Sirius shrugs. 'He should be back tomorrow-- it starts in the evening.' He glances over at her. 'Do you want to join us?'

'Oh-- no, that's all right. My family exchange gifts at Christmas but we aren't really religious at all-- one of my mum's best friends is Jewish, though, so I learnt the story of Hanukkah from her.' Hermione settles down more comfortably. 'What about you? I read that most old wizarding families tend not to be deeply religious, or at least not Christian, due to the history of the Church hunting down and executing witches.'

'Right as ever, Hermione-- we got into the habit of using the names _Christmas_ and _Easter_ to blend in, but the similarities end there. Around this time of year, one of the old families will agree to host the Midwinter Hunt on their estates, and invite all of Society to join-- everyone drinks far too much mulled wine and at least one person gets hit by a stray curse or falls off their horse and gets trampled; it's utterly ridiculous.'

Considering the current state of events, Hermione doesn't like the sound of a lot of drunk Purebloods going 'hunting'. 'Er-- what sort of hunt?'

'Oh, for Nogtails. They bring blight and pestilence upon farmland if allowed to integrate among the livestock, so killing one at midwinter is supposed to bring good fortune and prosperity in the new year.' Sirius shrugs, and turns his attention back to his project. 'But personally... I'll enjoy any celebration with light and colour. My birth-family didn't believe in having fun.'

Having seen their house, Hermione isn't surprised, and definitely doesn't blame Sirius for wanting to escape that.

  
When Hermione passes by their room the following morning on her way down to breakfast, she notes the lack of Christmas decorations within, and is impressed by the artistry of the completed menorah (she would not have guessed Sirius to be so good at crafts). Lupin returns that afternoon, heading straight upstairs to clean himself up and get some rest-- and when Hermione (who is definitely _not_ spying on them) slips past their room just after sundown, she hears Lupin reciting in Hebrew through the closed door. She smiles and continues on her way.

  
It's a few days til New Year's when Hermione notices Sirius in an out-of-the-way corner of the kitchen, working on a potion. Curious, Hermione walks over to peer at the pages of complex notes spread across the bench next to him.

'You're making the Wolfsbane potion?' she asks, unable to keep a faint note of surprise from her voice.

'That's right-- Remus hasn't been able to get it, so I thought...' Sirius waves his hand at the mess. '...Well, it's not as though I have much else to do while I'm stuck here, so.'

'I've heard it's supposed to be a really difficult potion,' says Hermione. 'Didn't Lupin say that Snape was one of the only people capable of making it?'

Sirius snorts. 'I never really cared for potions as a subject, if I'm being honest-- but that doesn't mean I _can't_ make something like this if I choose to.'

If he were almost anyone else, Hermione would never have believed such a brazen claim-- but Sirius had successfully become an animagus at age fifteen, in secret and without supervision. Hermione doesn't approve of gambling, but if she were to place a bet, it would not be against Sirius Black.

'It's really unfair that the Wolfsbane Potion isn't more readily available,' Hermione says with a frown. 'We have a potion that actually makes werewolves _safe_ over the full moon, but instead of distributing it freely the Ministry have made it _harder_ to find! They don't actually care about protecting the public, only forwarding their own bigoted agendas!'

'Mm, that's right,' Sirius says, nodding along as he measures out a beaker of fresh water.

'And imagine-- if all werewolves were offered the chance to integrate and live normal lives free of stigma, then it wouldn't be so easy for a fascist leader like You-Know-Who to convince them that only _he_ can give them that sense of normalcy...' 

Sirius goes slack-jawed, then sets the beaker down and spins on his heel to pull Hermione into a quick rough hug, before grasping her by the shoulders with a manic smile creeping over his face. 'Bloody hell, Hermione-- you're a _genius_.'

With that, he sprints from the room, leaving Hermione feeling a bit as though she just got caught up in a spontaneous hurricane.

\---

Crookshanks lifts his head as he hears Padfoot's distinctive footsteps taking the stairs two at a time-- a moment later, he bursts through the door, a broad grin on his face. Moony glances up from his book, making a small questioning noise in the back of his throat (and Crookshanks, sprawled across his lap, can feel his heart rate pick up at the sight of Padfoot's enthusiasm, his pupils going wide and dark).

' _Moony_ ,' he says breathlessly, 'if you could offer the Packs free Wolfsbane-- and someplace safe to transform-- d'you reckon that would help with your missions, convincing them not to join Voldemort?'

' _Oh_ ,' Moony replies. 'I... it just might, but... _how_?'

'I can make it-- the ingredients cost isn't a problem at all, with the Black fortune at our disposal, and we can convert another of the Black estates into a safe-house-- or they could live there full-time; it's not like _I_ need multiple houses. They could even... oh, hang on, give me a minute--'

Padfoot crosses the room, kicks a small trunk out of the way, and presses a hidden catch to open a wall-panel. Crookshanks leaves Moony's lap at once to investigate, with Moony trailing behind him.

'...Sirius Padfoot Black, are you honestly telling me that our room has had a secret passage through to the library _all this time_ , and you've been letting me go the long way around?'

'Never mind that, Moony, _look_ \--' Padfoot has brought down an old roll of parchment, depicting a rough map of the grounds around a manor house. 'This place is very remote and hasn't been used for _generations_ , so it's unlikely anyone will think to look there even if they can find it, and it's got all the usual wards-- Unplottable, surrounded in Anti-Apparition and Muggle-Repelling spells, and we can set up a Fidelius so no one can pass the location on to Greyback or the Death Eaters.'

'This... could work,' Moony says. 'Will the house need clearing out?'

'No, at least not in the same sense as this one-- it was essentially a ruin when my Uncle Alphard took us to visit, and that was... er, before we started Hogwarts, I'm pretty sure? He'd set up a sort of obstacle course, and...' Padfoot frowns. 'Or, no, I think that was a different visit. Reg didn't want to come and stayed with Cissy instead; it was just me and Alphard when we actually went up to the house. But there was an earlier summer when we both went flying there; I remember racing over the lake.'

'All of the Packs I've visited are used to living rough, so that shouldn't be an issue-- as long as they can find shelter, and there's enough space for the different groups to keep apart.' Moony draws a finger over the parchment. 'If this is to scale, that shouldn't be an issue.'

Padfoot nods. 'We can have a trial run next week-- just you on the potion, make sure it's a good fit. Then we'll shore up the wards, cast the Fidelius with you as the secret-keeper, and then on your next visit to the Packs you can start making the offer...'

Moony pauses thoughtfully. 'And Dumbledore...'

'You want to involve him?' Padfoot says, looking less than enthusiastic about the prospect.

'Actually... it may be better not to,' says Moony. 'He left all the details of the meetings up to me, under the assumption that I'd know best how to approach them-- and I reckon that the fewer people we involve in this, the more likely it is that they will trust us.'

Padfoot peers up at him. 'And it's... all right with you, that I'm helping?' he says quietly. 'Even though the old man wants me stuck here...?'

Moony sighs. 'It's by far the best chance I've got of convincing them, and there's no way I can pull it off on my own-- and this could make a real difference, both in stopping Voldemort _and_ for all the people we'd be giving a better life.'

'...Have I ever told you you're bloody _brilliant_ , Moonshine?' Padfoot murmurs.

'Yes, as a matter of fact,' Moony replies, his cheeks flushed, a smile tugging at his mouth. 'But you could stand to mention it more often.'

'Of course,' Padfoot whispers, staring intently at the curve of Moony's lips.

Moony, who has turned back to the parchment, doesn't notice. 'If you're to be heading out for this, we'll need a way to cover for you.'

'...Right,' Padfoot says, and the heated moment has passed.

Crookshanks meows authoritatively and paws at Padfoot's sleeve. Padfoot meets his eyes, and understands at once.

'I reckon Crooks can help with that,' he says. 'We can set up a sort of mirror system, so he can send a warning if someone is looking for me... and if we set an emergency Portkey to land on the roof, I can make it appear as though I was just upstairs all along.'

'That could work... would you be able to do that, Crookshanks?'

Crookshanks chirps in agreement, and begins to purr.

  
A few days after Moony has returned to report the success of their initial full-moon test, it's time for all the kids to return to school-- Padfoot pulls his Harry aside and gives him a magic mirror of his own, carefully wrapped up in brown paper. Harry smiles and thanks Padfoot, but once Harry has turned away Crookshanks notes that he doesn't look especially pleased about the gift, tucking it into his bag without a second glance. 

There isn't really anything to be done about this, though-- once the kids have gone, they get back to work, testing the alert system with Crookshanks (it takes them a few days to get the spell right, but once they're done Padfoot's mirror will activate if Crookshanks places his paw on any mirror in the house and gives his Padfoot-call). With this precaution in place, and their emergency return-spell keyed to the roof, Padfoot and Moony begin to make trips out to the new spot, to prepare it for the other wolves-- they use brooms and disillusionment spells to fly out, and return from the secret trips smelling of wind and rain.

Probably on account of them both being Canines, Padfoot and Moony always return from their trips with tangled hair and red-tipped noses and ears and broad giddy smiles, evidently delighted by the wind in their faces. They still have not admitted to each other that they want to be Mates, nor has the nature of their relationship shifted, but the mood between them has grown much lighter as their plan has begun to yield successes, and they seem closer to one another than ever.

While Crookshanks is quite content to stay inside the house, curled up by the warm hearth in the kitchen or in a cosy pile of blankets, Buckbeak pines for the open skies. After Padfoot and Moony have finished setting up the wards, Padfoot insists on smuggling Buckbeak out as well (the other humans, when they notice Buckbeak's absence at all, are told that Moony found him a new home where he'd have space to stretch his wings, and while Padfoot would miss him he knew it wasn't fair to keep a hippogriff locked up indoors). Crookshanks finds the house rather quiet and dull in Buckbeak's absence, but at least Padfoot is never away for more than a few hours at a time... and Crookshanks can always keep himself occupied by following the suspicious nasty elf around to keep an eye on him.

Crookshanks is _especially_ suspicious of the elf after one particular incident, when he caught the skulking creature tipping a potion bottle into a cup of coffee belonging to the bright-haired clumsy girl. Crookshanks couldn't identify the potion's purpose, but his instincts screamed _danger_ \-- and as the only witness to this nefarious act, he had leapt up on the table and 'accidentally' swatted the nearly-full cup to the floor. The ginger matriarch had scolded him profusely, while Padfoot regarded him with a quizzical frown and the elf hissed furiously at him from the shadows beneath the table. The bright-haired girl (unaware that she would have unknowingly drunk the potion if Crookshanks hadn't intervened) had laughed it off and insisted that it was no problem at all (as she was used to spills) and had simply poured herself a fresh cup while Padfoot repaired the old one and the ginger matriarch briskly vanished the spill with a wave of her wand. The elf, foiled in his nefarious plans, had shot Crookshanks a look of utter loathing, but there was nothing he could do except stew in his impotent rage, and Crookshanks has kept a very close watch on him ever since.

For this reason, Crookshanks knows at once that something has gone horribly wrong when the horrible sneaky elf lures him up to the attic and locks him in the owlery under a thick layer of muffling-spells, using his elf-magic to teleport away with a sharp _crack_. 

By the time the spells wear off, and Padfoot hears Crookshanks's yowling and comes to break him out, it is already too late-- the elf had waited alone in the kitchen, and answered a firecall from Harry with a series of clever lies and half-truths, leading Harry to believe that Padfoot was in trouble and only Harry could save him.

Padfoot, cursing himself for forgetting to remind Harry about the mirror on their last call and for not realising what was happening in time, goes at once to find Moony-- and only a minute later they have sent out warnings and pulled on their coats, and are on their way to the door.

Moony reaches out, catching Padfoot by the sleeve. 'Pads-- I know how important this is, but-- please promise me you'll be careful, that you won't take any stupid risks.'

'Remus, I-- it's _Harry_. I _can't_ let anything happen to him. I can't.'

'I know. But if... anything happened to you...' Moony shakes his head and looks away. 'Honestly, I don't know what I'd do with myself. I only just got you back...' He brings his free hand up to cover his eyes. 'I never thought I'd have _this_ , again.'

'Oh, Moons...' Padfoot shifts on his feet. 'I'm an utter mess, not-- I _will_ try to be careful, but...' Gently, Padfoot pulls Moony's hand away from his face. 'If something does happen, swear you won't isolate yourself again. There are so many other people out there, _wonderful_ people I'm sure, if only you'd let them in.'

Moony slides his hand down Padfoot's arm, threading their fingers together. 'But none like you,' he whispers.

Padfoot's gaze flicks up, and he seems about to speak-- but at that moment the front door springs open to reveal the other fighters who have responded to their calls, and they quickly step apart.

'This is everyone?' the mad-eyed man says gruffly. 'Right, then, let's get a move on.'

Crookshanks leaps up to Padfoot's shoulder, digging claws into the sturdy fabric of his jacket. Padfoot glances sideways at him, but hardly breaks stride, and doesn't try to dislodge him-- of course Padfoot has always trusted him, and now more than ever.

He holds on tight, and they press through the between-space with a sharp _pop_.

  
Mere moments later, Padfoot is first out the door of the entry lift, pushing past the others into the massive vaulted chamber with the large garish fountain at the middle; Crookshanks eyes the spouting jets of water with the utmost suspicion as Padfoot sprints past, Moony close at his heels. They take the first lift down before the others have caught up to them, forced to wait through the agonisingly slow descent, neither saying a word. Once again, Padfoot dashes through the gap just as soon as the doors have parted far enough to admit him. Moony keeps pace, matching Padfoot's long stride, unwilling to let Padfoot out of his sight.

The circular chamber spins around them, and they proceed through the nearest door, following the shouts and the electric crackle of spells-- they pass a massive tank of green liquid and writhing tentacles-- a man lumbering past with a squalling baby's head-- Hermione lying on the floor, her breathing shallow--

Padfoot bursts into a broad chamber with shallow steps leading down to the stone arch at the centre, with a whispering fluttering veil that makes Crookshanks's fur stand on end-- they need to get _out_ of here, as soon as possible-- 

But here they've found their boy-- his eyes frantic and his face feverish, yet still managing to hold his own against the masked faceless enemies.

'Nice one, Harry!' Padfoot calls out to him as one opponent drops, as he and Moony step in-- jets of light fly in brilliant arcs from the wand in his left hand, Crookshanks screaming warnings into his right ear; the enemies fall before him and Moony, the pair of them moving in perfect tandem without so much as a word between them, as though they share one mind.

A wild-haired woman shrieks with laughter as the bright-haired girl screams in pain, wand dropping from her fingers as she crumples, and Padfoot is sprinting towards them next, spitting taunts and curses to draw the woman's attention away from the girl at her feet-- the high-pitched grating sound of her cruel laughter sends a shiver down Crookshanks's spine as she almost lazily fires spells at them. Padfoot fires off his own in retaliation as swiftly as she can attack, ensuring that nothing lands, the blasts of colliding spells pulverizing the stone steps around them.

But Crookshanks doesn't like how close Padfoot is getting to that terrible arch-- one misstep, one momentary lapse, and the arch would claim them, drag them down into the depths of an abyss neither here nor there. Crookshanks yowls, loudly, a warning-- Padfoot spots the arch at his back and swears, lunging to the side away from it-- just as a cutting curse strikes him across the chest, knocking him off the dais.

Harry cries out, and Moony's hands are pressed to Padfoot's bloody chest, and the woman laughs and proclaims her victory-- but Crookshanks takes a running leap and launches himself directly at her face, latching on with his claws digging deep into flesh and scalp.

She isn't laughing anymore-- she screams, firing off spell after spell at random, her left hand clawing ineffectively at Crookshanks's flank in an attempt to dislodge him-- by the time he releases her and jumps away, her face is a mess of blood and shredded skin half hidden by her mane of filthy hair. Seeing that all her allies have fallen, she starts to spit a parting curse at them-- but Moony's curse hits her before she can finish and she crumples to the floor.

Crookshanks returns to Padfoot's side just as he groans and sits up, the gash across his chest very bloody but shallow enough that Moony has already patched him up-- Crookshanks pushes his head up under the palm of his hand, and Moony laughs through the tears in his eyes and pulls Padfoot tight against his chest, his nose buried in Padfoot's hair--

'Sirius!' Harry cries out, dropping to his knees beside them. 'Sirius, you're all right, you're all right...'

'Shh, don't worry,' says Padfoot, still half-tangled in Moony's limbs as he pulls Harry into his arms and squeezes him so tight his bones creak.

'I was-- s-- _so_ sure you were in trouble and I-- I thought he was going to _kill_ you and--'

Padfoot rubs slow circles across Harry's back, and Crookshanks licks the back of the boy's hand. Moony gently brushes the hair back from Padfoot's eyes, and presses his lips to Padfoot's temple.

The mad-eye man stumps over on his wooden leg. 'Lupin,' he grunts, 'you need to get those two out of here-- go back to HQ.' His eye rolls over and refocuses as Padfoot looks up at him as well. 'Won't be much longer before Ministry officials begin to arrive-- I don't think I need to tell you why you shouldn't be here when they do.'

Padfoot grimaces, exchanging a pointed look with Moony, and then nods. 'C'mon, Harry... let's go home.'

  
They leave the room together-- Crookshanks now perched on Moony's shoulder instead of Padfoot's, their wands still out even though all is quiet now. Padfoot has his right arm securely around his Harry's shoulders, and Moony's free hand rests gently over his fingers.

With a faint _ding_ , the lift doors slide open-- and Crookshanks hisses softly as the tall cloaked figure standing at the centre of the vaulted hall turns slowly to face them, its slitted red eyes glinting from within its oddly flat chalk-white face.

' _Harry Potter_ ,' the snake-man hisses.

Padfoot and Moony raise their wands, closing ranks in front of the boy. The snake-man laughs coldly, and begins to deliver a Speech, as though he thinks they will simply remain stood there until he has finished so he can kill them all.

Crookshanks has other ideas.

As the snake-man circles the fountain, Crookshanks darts between his feet and swipes at his ankle, causing him to stumble over the sweeping hem of his cloak. He pitches forward and cracks his bald head on the edge of one of the sculptures, then slips facefirst into the water with a gurgle. Crookshanks leaps delicately out of the way to avoid being splashed. 

Moony, Padfoot, and Harry all watch in stunned silence. The snake-man does not get up, his limbs twitching erratically, and after a moment the stream of bubbles from his noseless face ceases entirely. Crookshanks licks his paw, and begins to wash his face.

They're still stood there a moment later, when an old man with long white hair and beard shows up, shortly followed by a short round man in a stripey cloak and ugly green hat. These two humans clearly think themselves Very Important, and argue about the dead snake-man in the fountain, and about Padfoot, and about Harry. The white-haired man comes out on top in the argument, and he and the stripey man both attempt to Congratulate Harry Potter on his Defeat of the Dark Lord (again).

'It wasn't me, sir,' says Harry blankly. 'You ought to be thanking Crookshanks-- he tripped Voldemort and made him fall into the fountain.'

The stripey man squeaks and drops his hat when Harry says _Voldemort_ , and tries to cover it up in more bluster. 'Crook...? But-- but who is _Crookshanks_?'

Harry lifts his hand to point, his expression still blank. 'That cat, Minister.'

Padfoot chokes and doubles over, laughing, and Moony has to hold him up.

'Oh, right, and my godfather Sirius is innocent too-- so while you're apologising to people you've wrongly accused of crimes they didn't commit, you might as well pardon him too.'

'That's not--'

'Crookshanks is _very_ fond of Sirius,' Moony adds mildly. 'But if you would like to contradict the word of _two_ War Heroes, Mr Fudge, then by all means go on and arrest him. I'm sure that wouldn't reflect badly on your legacy as Minister in the slightest.'

The stripey man meets Crookshanks's eyes. Crookshanks favours him with his most supercilious _I just killed a snake-man_ look. The stripey man appears to wilt, and grumbles something about _fully pardoned_.

Padfoot puts his arms around Moony and firmly presses their lips together. Moony's hand comes up to tangle in Padfoot's long hair. Crookshanks narrows his eyes contentedly and begins to purr.

\---

Hermione wakes up in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. Her chest aches from the curse she was hit with during the battle at the Department of Mysteries, and there is a comforting warm weight across her ankles. She smiles down at Crookshanks, who is wearing a new collar with a shiny gold pendant on it.

She blinks, frowns, and then asks of the room at large--

'Why does _Crookshanks_ have an _Order of Merlin_?'

  
She doesn't get the full story until a few days later, when Madam Pomfrey decides that she's well enough for (human) visitors. Harry comes to see her, along with Sirius and Lupin, who both look much better than they did the last time she had seen them, as though the end of the war has lifted the weight of years off their shoulders.

'Old Snivelly had a complete meltdown,' Sirius snickers, nodding towards a curtained bed where Snape's distinctive profile can be made out through the sheer drapes. 'He had to be sedated.'

'Never quite got over losing his own shot at the Order of Merlin two years ago,' Lupin adds with a small smile. 'Seeing a _cat_ beat him to it... I suppose it was the last straw.'

Sirius breaks down laughing, and Lupin watches him fondly, his fingertips tracing idle patterns up and down Sirius's tattooed wrist.

'What will you do now that you're free?' she asks Sirius.

'Continue working with the werewolves, definitely,' he says at once. 'None of this will mean anything if we just let things go back to the way they were-- we've got to get rid of that horrible toad's bigoted laws, for a start.' He smiles at her. 'But I reckon you understand that better than most people, Hermione.'

Hermione returns the smile (because yes, of course she does).

A moment later, Sirius and Lupin get up and walk to the far end of the ward, to give the two friends a few minutes to catch up-- Hermione is relieved that no one on their side was seriously injured, and all of the Death Eaters present at the Ministry have been detained and convicted, which has also had the positive side effect of deflating Draco Malfoy's head a bit.

'So, er, Hermione,' Harry says in a low voice, after the initial conversation has lapsed. 'Why didn't you just _tell_ me that Sirius and Lupin are together?'

Hermione smacks herself on the forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> ...yes, I know that V still has the Horcruxes at this point, but the war definitely ends here anyway because let's be real, who is still going to follow him & resurrect him _again_ after he's been defeated by both an infant _and_ a housecat on two separate occasions?? so they can take care of the Horcruxes at their leisure, and Sirius & Remus definitely figure out a way to get the Horcrux out of Harry's face without him having to die (and also Tonks either stays Happily Single or finds a Cute Girlfriend-- your choice of Baby-Free Happy Ending for our favourite Queer Icon) 


End file.
